


Worry

by in_a_mellow_tone



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Rewrite, boy howdy, i have 29 works to update, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 18:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18707401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_a_mellow_tone/pseuds/in_a_mellow_tone
Summary: You stayed in the Bureau with Malik while Altaïr went out to collect information. One problem, though, he hasn't come back yet.





	Worry

Any other evening and the cool midnight air would’ve filled the bureau and brought a sense of peace. Instead, the air was stiff and tense with the thick smell of Frankincense long burned away as yet another hour without sunlight passed. The refreshing air that had settled over the rest of Jerusalem did nothing to calm your mind. A lead weight had replaced your stomach. Apprehension and dread filling every bone.

Altaïr had gone and left you with Malik in the small bureau. His job was to go about the large city to gather information on his newest target for Al Mualim. Promising and assuring that he'd be back by nightfall without any faults. And yet, at this point the moon was far overhead the lattice roof and endless sky. Causing your mind to fret and falter over what that could mean for your partner.

It didn't matter to you if Altaïr was the best assassin in the whole damn middle east or even the explored world, he was still human and mortal like anyone else. Whether he liked it or not. Anything could hurt him and make him bleed just like how anything could hurt you and Malik. Causing all three of you to bleed the same red blood and suffer the same price for recklessness in your unconventional line of work.

“Sister,” Malik slowly and silently walked behind where you were standing in the middle of the closed-off room adjacent from the parlour. The counter he was scribbling away at moments ago towards your back and a blank wall in front of you. His large and warm hand softly weighed on your shoulders as he tried his best to calm you, and perhaps himself, down, “I'm sure he's okay. Maybe he's already killed his target?” Malik’s tone wasn’t believable to even his own ears; a weak excuse that fooled neither of you.

Your knuckles were still lightly brought up to your lips in a state of doubt. Worry in every crease, crevice, and shadow of your face as you stood unmoving like a statue. “No,” you mumbled, “Not without you giving him a feather and leave to go. He may be arrogant but he knows his place and your role in his duties.”

Malik stayed silent for a while as he pondered your muttered words, his hand even heavier on your much smaller shoulder but you could feel the worry about his best friend and confidant set in his stomach, too. “Sister-” he started again, even more cautiously and unsure than the first time.

You stopped Malik's weak and unconvincing attempt at comfort with a simple roll of your shoulders and tsk of your tongue, “I need to go and find him. Now.”

Malik, however, stubbornly and to your annoyance refused to take his hand off of your shoulder, pulling your body slightly back in an attempt to stop you from going outside the bureau with hardly a plan in mind. Perhaps he didn't want to think about losing you to the uncertainty of the night, too.

“Don't stop me, Malik.” Your voice turned hostile and bitter as you swear you could feel his body flinch slightly at the sudden change of mood, “Altaïr might be lying dead in.. in... in some alley somewhere for all I know. Wallah,” your mind went rampant as gruesome scenarios involving a dead body of your beloved pricked hot and fat tears at your eyes.

“What if he's in a, I don’t know, dirty hovel somewhere and bleeding out?” You started to pace back and forth, the sudden absence of Malik’s large hand on your shoulder made your entire body feel cold. Goosebumps appearing over every inch of skin, clothed or exposed, “What if a guard is hurting him right now and I'm just here worrying away?” Tears were now streaming freely down your whole face, “Wallah. I need to find him right now.”

Just as you wiped your face on your sleeve and started walking towards the parlour in order to leave the musky and hardly lit office, a shallow thump from the foreroom resounded in the thick and tense silence that had settled over you two. Yours and Malik’s movements stopping immediately as you both listened for anything else that would tell you and Mailk that what you heard wasn’t a trick of the mind with bated breath.

“A-Altaïr?” You stuttered at the slight sound shifting of fabric, your voice being strained from worry. 

“Yes, Habibi?” His deep and steady voice sounded surprised and cautious at your unusual tone.

“Wallah,” you whispered to yourself as your feet stumbled around the corner and into the steely blue moonlit parlour to see Altaïr in all his glory. 

Altaïr was standing tall and strong in the middle of the open and surprisingly bright front room with dried mud and dust caked on his boots, trousers, and arms. The signs of a scuffle clear as day. And yet he still looked heavenly to you.

The moment Altaïr saw you, however, he cautiously removed the hood shrouding his identity to the world. Revealing his short tousled hair and eyes spun from gold. Taking in your dishevelled and wrecked from as you tripped yet again while standing still. A look of cold calculation fading away quickly as he realized why you would appear this way, his words of promise coming to the front of his mind instantly.

“Wallah,” was all you could whisper. Running to barrel into his chest with something that resembled a poor tackle than a hug. His muscles instinctively tensed at your sudden outburst and physical constant. 

“I thought I lost you,” you silently cried after taking a few deep breaths of his scent. Cardamom. Sand. Pepper. A hint of mint and lime. Home. He was home. Home and alive.

“Shh,” Altaïr finally relaxed and slowly petted your hooded head, “I'm not dying on your watch,” Altaïr lowly whispered before melting into your hug and giving a small kiss to the top of your head.

**Author's Note:**

> \-- This work is a rewrite of my original work that belongs to the orphaned work Side Order Of Fries https://archiveofourown.org/works/9505310 --
> 
> Okay, so this is number 1/29! I'm hoping to get most of these out this week so you guys have some stuff to read and so I can clear out that folder on my google drive. Anyways, Enjoy!


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